


Motorcycles are Not Indoor Toys

by HSavinien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders' Era, Motorcycles, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-17
Updated: 2008-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius surprises Remus and the origin of the motorbike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motorcycles are Not Indoor Toys

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to yuri_shoujo, erincalenear, and mi hermanito.

Quiet Saturdays during the full moon were not meant to be disrupted by a loud roar.  Whatever was making that noise had apparently bypassed the benign traps that one Remus Lupin, werewolf and sixteen-year-old wizard, had set up around his hideaway to repel wandering first-years and the badly lost.  This particular quiet Saturday afternoon, September the 20th, in the upper east corridor, deosil of the Astronomy Tower, was not supposed to be interrupted at all.  It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year and his compatriots were meant to be out buying enough candy to make the entire dorm sick and enough slime- and explosion-emitting devices to give Filch heart palpitations.

His listless Charms revision was cut short by a nervous sitting leap a good six inches off the cushion (which dislodged all his books and sent them sliding to the floor).  Grabbing for his wand, the boy whirled to see the source of the noise.

Remus’s jaw gaped uncharacteristically.  With the incredulity in his voice hovering somewhere between pained and resigned, “Pads,” he managed.  “Padfoot.  Motorcycles are not indoor toys.”

His companion looked up and down the hallway in which he’d taken to secreting himself (an unused corridor that led to nowhere but a padded window-seat) with vague nonchalance.  “Tchah,” Sirius declared.  “That’s what you said about the fireworks.”  He took off the chrome-filigreed helmet, flicked his damp fringe out of his eyes, and grinned at Remus.  The motorcycle, which was large and the shiny black of beetle eyes, sat there, purring quietly.

“Yes, and remember how that turned out?”

“What, a little detention?  Moony, really.  You call yourself a Marauder?  It was just—”

“It was just six hours, scrubbing minced slugs out of cauldrons without magic.”  Remus snorted, regaining his equilibrium with the familiarity of banter.  “Excuse me not wanting to spend my Saturday smelling slime.”

Sirius waved a hand airily, dismissing such petty objections.  “Prefect-y swot...  Anyway, back to my motorbike.  Isn’t it brilliant?  Prongs is going to be _green_.”  He ran his fingers down the handlebar in a possessive caress.

Remus looked over his dark-haired friend and said friend’s quietly-rumbling acquisition with pronounced skepticism.  “Padfoot, it doesn’t fly and it hasn’t got red hair.  It can’t be pranked.  Even if it is noisy and shiny, I don’t think it will hold his attention for long.”

Sirius’s mouth gaped in a mirror of the goldfish-expression that Remus had been sporting a few minutes ago.  “What do you mean?” he demanded.  “It’s...it’s a _motorbike_ , Remus!  A muggle motorbike!”

“Sirius,” Remus replied gently, “You may not have noticed, but Prongs, in his Prongs-ish forthrightness, entertains few trains of thought for long.  The three that have thus far lasted more than about a fortnight are Lily Evans, broomsticks and other things having to do with Quidditch, and the noble art of prankery.”

“But—!” Sirius protested, likely intending to launch a defense of James.

“I’m not insulting his intelligence,” Remus pointed out.  “Just his attention span.  Remember the sleight-of-hand manual?  The plan to launch a wireless programme, the rock band, and the grow-a-toadstool-village kit?” 

Sirius stared at the wall somewhere near Remus’s left elbow.  “Who was it had the idea to research the Anim-...the you-know spell and the sheer bloody stubbornness to stick by it for nearly three years while we worked it out?” he asked, voice hard.  “Who was it asked no questions when I showed up on his doorstep this summer and never said a word, even to you and Peter, that I was _crying_ that night because I never even liked them when I was little and I didn’t understand what the point about love was until I got here and found out what I missing because they never gave me any?” 

Going white, Remus nearly choked trying to get his words out fast enough.  “ _Merlin_ , Sirius, I-I never meant it like that!  I...  James is probably the most fiercely loyal person I’ve ever _met_!  I didn’t mean about the...the really important things.” 

The tension dropped out of Sirius’s body abruptly.  He slumped bonelessly.  Remus spoke more gently, scooting over on the window-seat.  “C’mere, Pads.  Set that thing on its kickstand and have a sit.”  Sirius complied, setting the helmet on the bike’s seat precisely and flopping onto the cushion without looking at Remus.  “I’m sorry, Padfoot.  I thought that you’d talk about it if you needed to.  I didn’t want to poke at you.” 

“I didn’t mean to blow up at you like that, Moony,” Sirius said with a half-laugh that sounded like nothing much was funny.  “I really didn’t.  I know you couldn’t have meant it like James was half-arsed about everything.  It just suddenly seemed like...I dunno.” 

Remus nodded, understanding.  Ever since the summer, Sirius’s mood had been more mercurial than ever.  He’d latched onto the other Marauders with even more intensity than he’d always shown and ignored all Slytherins ostentatiously in the halls and lectures.  He’d come in to the dorm one evening during their first week back with a badly charm-concealed black eye and refused to talk about where he’d got it, though Remus had seen Regulus staring across the Great Hall with pale intensity and moving as if his stomach was hurting. That weekend, Remus had arranged matters with James, and the Slytherins had woken up Sunday morning to fluorescent orange balloons that followed them around, farting insults from three feet above their heads.  Sirius had laughed (really, not just that sophisticated scoff he put on) for the first time since he’d gone to live at the Potters’ home, James said.  His usual mad joy was looking strained. 

The motorcycle was an...improvement...of sorts. 

“Where’d you get it, then, Pads?” 

“Huh?  Er, yeah.  Well, obviously I couldn’t spend the entire summer being waited upon by the Potters, much as they rightly adore me.  And there’s only so long I can stand to watch Jamesy play with his balls,” he added thoughtfully.  “Nearly pornographic, how much he loves a Quaffle, our James.” 

Remus looked at him enquiringly. 

“Extra Quidditch practice.  Every day.  For _hours_.”  Sirius rolled his eyes.  “So I wandered around and ended up in a Muggle garage one day, early on.  I hung about watching the bloke fix up cars and bikes and things for a few weeks, ‘til he let me start helping out.  Eventually, there was this other bloke and he wanted to sell this fine, fine motorbike, so I raided Gringotts for the bit of money I had left that wasn’t in the Black vault, changed it, and with the bit the garage bloke paid me for helping out, I had just enough.”  Sirius lit up slowly as he told the story.  “Ted, the garage bloke, gave me lessons and helped me fix it up.” 

“Merlin help us...” Remus said.  “You actually learnt a trade?  Something vaguely useful?  The world is going to collapse into the sun any day.”  He was grinning, though.  Sirius looked actually happy.  “James doesn’t know, though?  Where’ve you been keeping it?” 

Sirius looked a little sheepish.  “Basement of the Shack.  Hope you don’t mind.  And Prongs left me to myself enough.  I didn’t want to tell anyone until I was brilliant at riding it.”  He preened.  “Which I am now, of course.” 

“Of course.”  Remus frowned suddenly.  “But, hold on...if you were keeping it at the Shack and abused your Hogsmeade privileges to wander off and fetch it, how on earth did you get it here and why aren’t Pete and James here praising it?” 

Sirius shrugged.  “I wanted to show you.  Your luck’s rotten enough as it is, first Hogsmeade weekend coming on a full moon.  I thought you could do with some compensation.  I borrowed Prongsy’s cloak and levitated it up the stairs while Filch was distracted by a couple of confiscated Brimstone Bangers that ‘accidentally’ went off in his office.” 

Remus sat for a second, absently noting the emphasis on ‘accidentally’ with the prefect part of his brain.  “Oh.  Thanks, Pads.” 

“So?”  Sirius wriggled impatiently.  “Tell me I’m brilliant already!” 

“Hm...”  Remus laughed.  “I don’t know about that, coming from the fellow who managed, not in first year, not when exhausted by term exams, but earlier this week to put a purple striped sock on one foot and an orange polka-dotted one on the other and wander around for the entire day without noticing.” 

Sirius sniffed audibly, face twisted into an elaborate pout doubtless intended to show the pain his friend’s harsh words inflicted.  “The genius and the prophet is never appreciated in his own time.”  Then his face shifted as, glancing slyly at Remus, he added, “Besides, it’s not like you to pay such attention to my...undergarments, Moony.  Got something else you need to tell us?” 

“Tosser.” 

“Resorting to epithets is the sign of a mediocre intelligence and a small vocabulary,” Sirius returned, grinning.  He was probably quoting something Remus had said once in prefect-mode.  “Poofter.” 

Remus puffed out a breath in fond exasperation.  “Yes, Pads. Very good.  Going to stop using them yourself anytime soon?”

“Pff, not likely.”  Sirius grinned.  “Besides, you’re _our_ poofy shirtlifter, Remus.  Nobody gets to harass you but me.” 

Remus buried his face in his hands.  “Bisexual.  The word is ‘bisexual,’ Sirius.  Remind me _why_ I thought it was a good idea to come out to you lot?”

Sirius preened.  “Because we are wonderful and gentle and caring and will help you get anybody who makes fun expelled.  Also, we are gorgeous blokes.  Well, I am.  James is all right.  Pete’s...okay.  Also, we had already proved ourselves to be kind and supportive with your furry little problem.” 

“Okay, you have a point.  Not a brilliant one, mind.  I would debate your first few arguments.”

“I’m not a gorgeous bloke?” Sirius asked plaintively. 

“Well,” Remus said with solemn consideration, “I can’t speak for the tastes of the local _mustelidae_ , of course...”

He dodged a cuff, as Sirius worked that out fairly quickly and responded with nonverbal indignation. 

“Heh,” Remus chuckled and jostled Sirius’ shoulder with his own.  “No, it really is impressive, Pads, the motorbike.  I might actually have to be proud of one of you lot for once instead of quietly mortified.”

“Pffh.  You’re only quiet in public,” Sirius retorted.  “I scoff at this pretentious prefectiness.”  He scoffed, to demonstrate, “Hah!”

“What’re you going to do with it all year, though?  Don’t they need, I don’t know, heated garages?  Regular doses of petrol?”

“Nah.  Just needs to be run a bit every week or so.  The Shack should keep it clear of the weather, if you don’t mind.”  

Remus waved a hand dismissively.  “’s fine.”

Sirius nodded happily.  “Then, in the spring, I’ll give it a bit of a tune-up.”  He gazed adoringly at the motorbike.  “I’ve got such plans for her.” 

“Oh really...”  Remus asked, injecting the words with paranoid suspicion born of five-years-and-a-bit of sharing occupancy with the other boy.  He watched Sirius out of the corner of his eye.  His suspicion was justified a moment later when Sirius’s head jerked up and he swiveled around abruptly to face Remus, eyes shining with their usual mad gleam.

“That’s it, Moony!  Hah!  Brilliant!” 

Remus edged away a bit.  “What now, dare I ask?”

“That’s IT!  I’m going to figure out how to make it FLY!” 

“You’re who in the what, _what_?”

Sirius nearly crowed.  “I’ve just got to modify the broom spell!  I bet I could figure that out by the end of term!  Then Prongs will bow before me and my awesome powers of awesome and worship my motorbike forever,” he added placidly. 

Remus stared at him.  “Pads, the people who worked that out in the first place were _professionals_.  It still takes professional broom-makers to properly charm them so they don’t go mad and buck people off.”

“Pffh.  They weren’t me.  Besides, it’s not like I have to make the spell up from bits or anything.  I just have to modify one, Moony.”  He glanced around, frowning.  “Outside the grounds, though.  I had to bollocks up the transmission a bit just to get it to run properly in Hogwarts.” Sirius glanced back at Remus and beamed. 

“Ah,” Remus managed faintly.  At that moment he believed it.  Lackadaisical about his studies and clothing though his friend might be, Remus knew better than most how much obsessive genius Sirius had brought with him to Hogwarts.  He sailed through difficult lessons on talent and charm, while Remus, intelligent as he undeniably was, spent hours revising in the library and poring over his textbooks in the afternoons.  Sirius was incredibly focused once something caught his attention—like James and Peter.  Unlike James, that focus often lasted long past the point where it might’ve or maybe should have ebbed.  This case was different, hopefully; certainly a more constructive hobby than ragging Snape.  And, even better, it was something with which he was their voice of expertise.  Peter could talk charms and curses as well as Sirius, when he felt like it, James’s eternal monologue on Quidditch left little room for another’s, and Remus liked matching his swift tongue.  The motorbike, however, that could be Sirius’s and his alone.  He was the only one of them with this kind of experience.  And being special at something that was not connected in any way to his pure blood or his family... 

Remus had a flash of prescience that belied his poor Divination marks.  By Christmas, Sirius’d be making anything with gears in Gryffindor house zoom around the common room under its own power and have at least begun enchanting the motorcycle.  “When the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts wizards show up to arrest you, I’m not stopping them,” he warned.  “Just so you know.” 

“Yes, Moony,” Sirius said complacently.


End file.
